Poison
by Katiesmom07
Summary: House/Wilson SLASH oneshot fic set just after "Poison" S1E8 where tables are turned and a drunk Wilson needs House. From House's POV. Rated M because...because it definitely needs it. LOL. Enjoy!


Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own the two sexy men you're about to read about. But if I do ever get a chance to purchase them, I will definitely NOT be sharing! LOL

Author's Notes: I have decided to embark on a little adventure. I have recently been popping in my old DVDs of season one of House and I was thinking of what I thought of the House/Wilson relationship at that exact point. So, I will be writing several oneshot fics each taking place directly after the episode they are named for. There will be spoilers for the episode mentioned, not that will matter since I'm sure each of us have already seen these eps, but I thought I'd better mention it or get scolded! Please keep in mind that I tried to push all information out of my mind except exactly what was given to us in the episode titled and previous episodes. Also, this will **not be a series**, saying that you will NOT have to read this one to read the next. Nothing that happened in this one will be mentioned or will have happened in the next. The only connection is that they will all be House/Wilson mostly SLASH fics. Hope you enjoy!

Okay, so I've had this idea rolling around in my head and I had to use it. It really has nothing to do with the episode it's titled for, but it had to be done before Wilson actually broke up with Julie and this was the only place I could fit it in. Hope you enjoy!!

Poison

His voice had been squeaky as he slurred his words over the phone. It had taken me nearly ten minutes just to figure out his general vicinity. I wasn't used to this. Usually these phone calls went the other way. Normally, I was the drunk one in a bar calling my sober and responsible best friend to come drag my sorry ass home. But tonight, Wilson had been the one to decide to drown himself in alcohol.

As a rule, he chose a beer or some sissy wine, but his phone conversation had told me that tonight he'd ventured into my world of hard liquor. And although he hadn't managed to explain the reason for his current state, I was fairly certain it had something to do with his miserable marriage.

Almost an hour after I'd flipped my phone shut, I tossed entirely too much money at the cab driver I'd paid to be my midnight chauffer and walked into the bar after seeing Wilson's slumped figure through the glass window. There he was, hair a muss, his face blotchy and his eyes glassy, waiting for me. He looked more miserable than even me on my worst day, but still absolutely adorable.

I took a seat on the stool next to him and motioned for the bartender to hand over his keys. With a smirk, he tossed the keys in my hand and I dropped them into my pocket. It wasn't until after I ordered two cups of coffee that he finally spoke. "Sanks." I chuckled at his mispronunciation but couldn't push the despair in his voice from my mind. This was going to be a long night.

I watched him through the bar's mirrored wall as he sipped his coffee, holding his cup with two hands like a toddler. He sucked at drinking alcohol. There were a lot of things he was good at. He was a great doctor, a general do-gooder and a fantastic friend. But there were two things he absolutely sucked at. The first was being married. The second was drinking. Yet tonight, my normally levelheaded best friend had decided to combine both.

I waited until he'd finished the first cup and I motioned for a refill before asking, "Julie?" Not yet ready to test his conversation skills evidently, he merely nodded. Of course I had been right. Now I had to figure out the details from my overly intoxicated friend.

I kept my questions simple. "Work?" He shook his head. Of course it wasn't work. She'd practically married him for his money. She had been completely understanding of his long hours and work-aholic state. That had worked out perfectly for me because having to work late or sometimes even over night had become the ideal excuse for the two of us to be together. And even though she hated me for the times she did know he was spending with me, Julie never suspected that her husband was having an affair with me. Or did she?

With a lump in my throat, "Us?" I had never felt so relieved as I did when I watched him shake his head. Surprisingly, it was Wilson who was more worried about people finding out he was gay than I. For some reason, it didn't even matter to me. It probably had something to do with the fact that I couldn't care less about what anybody thought of me, anybody besides Wilson that was.

Someone figuring out our secret was my biggest worry, though. I was sure if anyone found out, that Wilson would call it quits. He'd nearly ended our relationship when he'd decided to marry Julie, but after a couple weeks, he'd come back to me, begging me to forgive him. I had no intention of forgiving him, because there was nothing to forgive. As long as I had him back, that was all I cared about.

In this crazy, messed up world, he centered me. Everything else in life made me completely miserable, but he, in my own weird way, made me happy. I needed him. So no matter how many girlfriends I had to watch him date or how many marriages I had to stand up for or how many times he woke me in the middle of the night to pick his drunk ass up from a bar, I would do it.

All of this brought me to this moment where I was sitting on a bar stool trying to decipher my friend's reason for his stupor. If it wasn't work and it wasn't us, it only left one thing. "Is she screwing around?" I could see the tears rising in his eyes and hoped that he would not let them flow. I hated sappy emotion. Even in the mirror I could tell that he was trying to retain his composure, what little he had of it at least. I knew it wasn't really the fact that she was seeing someone else that bothered him; it was the fact that he couldn't make her happy. It took a long moment before he nodded his head. "She ask for the divorce?" He nodded again.

I couldn't help that part of me was happy. The few months or even a year that would follow, he would completely focus on me. We would be content together, living just the two of us, until Wilson decided that he wanted more than our relationship could offer. He liked being able to showcase his love, and with me that was out of the question. He wanted the ring and the public displays of affection, the common knowledge that he belonged to someone. But for a period of time, I would be enough, and I was okay with that.

With this, I asked, "Your bags in the car?" He nodded yet again, this time with a sip of his coffee, which he held now with only one hand. I motioned for the tab and upon seeing the total Wilson had racked up, asked him for his wallet. He willingly handed it over and I fished out the cash and tossed it across the bar.

After emptying the last of my coffee I asked, "Think you can walk? I can't carry you." With another nod, he stood. His next move, though, caught me completely off guard. He flung his entire body at me, nearly knocking me from the stool and captured my lips with his in a sloppy kiss. I caught the bartender's shocked look out of the corner of my eye, all the while trying to keep myself from toppling to the floor.

When Wilson finally pulled back I managed, "We are in public, in case you forgot." He glanced around the empty bar, his eyes finally falling on the bartender before shrugging and attacking my lips again, this time with more precision. Hoping that he wouldn't remember this in the morning, I gave in to his assault. Our tongues mingled together with the tastes of coffee and whiskey as he pushed his hands into the hair at the base of my skull, pulling me into our kiss. He took a step closer and I dared to place a hand on his hip, never forgetting where we were. But he was clearly lost in the moment, pressing as much of himself against me as he could.

Then, as quickly as he'd started it, he ended it. His eyes, still glassy from the alcohol, now swirled with passion. If the alcohol hadn't impaired him, he would demand attention once we got home. Slightly breathless I asked, "Ready to go?" He grabbed his coat with only a slight stumble and I stood. As we walked out of the bar I flashed a smile over my shoulder at the bartender, whom I believe enjoyed our little show.

Wilson's baby steps were swayed just a bit, the alcohol having not completely worn off. I made a mental note to slip him a Vicodin before letting him go to sleep to fight off the inevitable headache. Once outside, I asked where his car was parked and he pointed across the road.

The ride home was silent, though Wilson's hand was firmly placed on my thigh. Leaving his bags in the car, we wandered up the steps to my apartment, quietly, as to not wake anyone up at two o'clock in the morning. Once we crossed the threshold into the apartment, it was a different story though.

He dropped his coat to the floor and immediately pushed mine from my shoulders. I wasn't used to him being the aggressive one. Maybe I should get him drunk more often. Ever one to tease, I couldn't help myself. "Something you want?"

His answer was an attack. My back hit the bookcase, toppling various things, including my cane, to the floor. Automatically, my arms encircled his waist as his lips assaulted mine. He kissed me as though it was the first time, hungrily, like he'd never get enough. I matched his fervor, completely turned on by the new side of him, tugging and pulling at the shirt that was still tucked into his pristinely ironed slacks. Once free, my hands roamed the bare skin of his back, my fingers kneading his flesh.

His mouth continued its assault, traveling down my unshaven jaw to my neck, which even in his drunken state he knew was my weak spot. As his tongue licked and his teeth nipped at my sensitive skin, I felt my knees begin to buckle. I managed a muttered order to head to the bedroom and was met with a moan from deep within him that caused my arousal to pulse against my jeans.

He took a step back and stared at me with foggy eyes. I nodded toward the bedroom, "Go. I'm gonna grab a water." In quick movements, he crashed his lips into mine, each of his hands holding firmly to my face then pulled away to walk down the hallway. I watched him go with a grin on my face. Even with his slight stumble his nice ass was still a perfect view.

I silently chuckled as I headed to the kitchen after retrieving my cane, wondering if he'd manage the buttons on his shirt before I joined him in bed. I imagined him lying naked, waiting for me. I downed half a bottle of water with my two Vicodin before shaking another into my hand and grabbing another water for Wilson. Somehow, before his ravenous attack on my body, I would have to get him to take the pill.

When I entered the bedroom, I didn't find what I'd thought I would. Instead, I found him seated on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, face in hands. I watched for a moment, but saw no heaving of his shoulders. I silently hoped that I'd find no tears when his eyes rose to mine. I took a step closer and tapped his shoulder with the water bottle. He took it without looking up and even accepted the pill I held under his face without argument. This was not going to be good.

With a huff, I plopped down beside him, my chin resting on hands crossed over my cane. I could hear the thoughts that were running through his head and took a deep breath, preparing myself for the next stage of the night. I was a miserable, heartless son of a bitch; I knew that. I rarely showed my emotions and even more infrequently spoke of them. By contrary to popular belief, I was, in fact, capable of actually feeling, loving even.

There's a little piece of me that I save for moments when Wilson needs me most. I have it for no other but him. So occasionally, when I know I must, I dredge up these feelings from deep within me, and for a microscopic moment in time I become the sappy, wishy-washy lover that I hate, but he needs me to be.

"You feel, right now, like you failed." He nodded, face still towards the floor. "But you haven't." He scoffed, but I continued. "A marriage is a relationship between two people that love each other, two people who can't imagine living without each other. It's about dedication, commitment and letting nothing separate you. True love stands the test of time and any other test that comes its way." I paused, letting my words sink in. "I know we don't have the rings or the paperwork, but we might as well be married. We've been together for over ten years. Maybe it's not traditional, but we make it work. It works because we love each other. It works because no matter what, we're always together in the end." He finally looked up to me, eyes rimmed in red. I shrugged with a smirk, "So technically, you were cheating on me with Julie. So all that happened was your affair ended to make your marriage work."

A long, silent moment passed before Wilson finally spoke. "Why do you keep letting me do this to you?" Surprisingly, his voice was even and no words were slurred. The alcohol had finally begun to wear off.

I knew what he needed to hear. "Because I can't imagine my life without you. And because I love you."

I watched the tears fill his eyes and threaten to fall, the absolute last thing I wanted. His words were choked when he spoke. "I love you, too."

I smiled. Even though I knew it, I still liked hearing him say it. "Ready for bed?"

An evil grin came over his face; one that he'd obviously learned from me. In slow movements he took my cane from me and propped it against the wall, stood and unbuttoned his shirt before shrugging out of it and lifted mine over my head. He gently pushed me back onto the bed saying, "Yeah."

My body reacted immediately as he shed the rest of his clothing and continued to undress me. His body, taught in all the right places, with just enough cushion in others, would forever turn me on. He was absolutely, incredibly sexy. No woman could compare, or any other man for that matter.

As he moved to straddle my waist my hand glided up his bare thigh to the curve of his hip. He took his time, he mouth traveling my chest, tongue pausing to flick at nipples, teeth nibbling. My skin, once warm with anticipation was now chilled with the damp trail he had left behind. I couldn't hold back the shiver as he drew an earlobe into his mouth, suckling it. My fingers dug into his hips, sure to leave the mark of my hand on his skin as he attacked my neck with animal precision.

Not able to help myself, I bit into the sensitive skin of his shoulder, bare and inviting in front of me. He bucked against me, out of shock, pleasure or pain; I wasn't sure which. His lips moved to mine, his once gentle movements turning into passionate, aggressive desire. Our tongues clashed, his invading my mouth.

With his first thrust, his erection pressing against mine, I realized his need was coming quick. His hips drove into mine signaling he had no patience or time for a condom or changing positions. Hands groped at sweaty skin as our bodies fought to find a rhythm together. Our chests slid against each other after I cupped his ass cheeks, pulling him harder into each stroke. I heard his moan, then the quick intake of breath before I felt his body tense just before the explosion of his orgasm. I yanked his body into mine as he shouted my name, causing my own rise to completion.

Our bodies jerked involuntarily against each other's, until we both collapsed out of pure exhaustion. Our chests heaved against each other as we tried to regain normal pulses.

It seemed like an eternity before Wilson finally decided to move, neither one of us ready for the moment to end. But he disappeared into the bathroom and I heard the shower turn on. I joined him moments later, quickly rinsing off under the steamy water.

Neither one of us bothered with clothing before we climbed back into bed, Wilson wasting no time before curling up to my side. Normally, I would opt for my own personal space, but on nights that I knew he truly required it I succumbed to his need.

My eyes drifted closed just before he spoke. "I want to stay here."

I tried to control my heartbeat that I knew he must be able to hear, as my mind raced to find the meaning of his words. We'd already agreed that he would be staying with me, but this held more significance. He was talking about something long term, maybe permanent. I wanted him to say the words. I wanted to hear him spell it out. "Okay…" I let my voice trail, hoping he would get the hint.

His fingers danced over my bare chest. "I mean it. I'm getting divorced. I…really want to try and make this work. Just us…forever."

I settled into the moment, still not sure he could even follow thru with his plan. But his desire to try was enough for me. My heart skipped a beat, even though I tried to tell myself that I shouldn't get my hopes up. "I'd like that."

"'Night Greg." My lips formed a smile with the use of my first name. It only happened when we were entangled in bed. He never said it at work, on the phone or anywhere in public. He never slipped up. It was only here, where our love was safe.

"'Night Jimmy."


End file.
